Nobody Thrills Me Like You Do
by Goodbye Mr WoIf
Summary: Hanschen is looking for an escape and Ilse has it. This is a prequel to my other story 'I See It All Too Clear', though it'll make sense if you haven't read that one. Hanschen/Ilse, alcohol/drug use. R/R!


**Note: I own nothing! This is kinda of a secondary one-shot fic that goes along with my other bigger story 'I See It All Too Clear'. Check it outt!**

After the funerals it was hard to find any child out playing. Everyone spent their nights indoors, whether that was their own choice, or the choice of over-bearing mothers. The mood in the town was depressing. No one was back to normal yet. The cloud of Moritz's death still hung over Ilse in a rainstorm of doubt and broken spirit. Her playful demeanor was a thing of the past and she had not made an appearance at Priapia in weeks. However, tonight would be a little different. Her nerves ran high on this particular evening as she dressed herself up in her little camp that she took refuge in. Ilse put on her best dress she still had in possession, and rubbed a bit of rouge on her cheeks, to give her the color that the men of the camp liked so much. She knew the extra effort would get her what she and her partner in crime for the night wanted. It would be her first time back and was pleased to have a friend to take along.

A rustle through the trees made Ilse smirk and she turned to face the disturbance. None other than Hanschen Rilow appeared, wearing much less formal garb than usual, but hair still perfectly done in his normal slicked-back fashion.

"I'm ready. You look nice, Ilse."

Hanschen had approached Ilse the night after Moritz's funeral. He was looking for an escape, and knew Ilse had just that. It was no secret, with Ilse's rebellious nature came fantasies that most of the town could not even dream of. They had planned the day, and after Wendla's death it was clear that they needed it. Ilse was surprised when Hanschen, of all boys, questioned her. They had neither fondness nor dislike for each other, but had never really had experiences to push their feelings either way. Now, it was refreshing to see his pale face, and Hanschen's expression told that he was pleased as well, if not excited.

"Thank you, Hanschen." Ilse smiled, excitement brewing in her. "Shall we?"

He nodded and together they made the twenty minute walk to the artist's colony that Ilse had previously been so familiar with. The night had already fallen and Ilse took Hanschen's arm just before they were about to break out of the woods.

"Follow my lead, don't wander off or you might stumble upon some things you don't want to see. Dierk Wunter will probably be the first to see us. Take whatever he gives you, it flows free here. Falco, the tall blonde one will probably be all over me, pay him no mind, but he'll probably be too drunk to even notice you."

Ilse shrugged, a goofy smile slapped onto her face, the first time since that fateful night that she had actually smiled. Hanschen gulped and nodded his head at each instruction. Already he could hear the whoops and hollers of the drunken hippies behind the trees. Fires blazed and a scent filled the air that he had never smelled. Heart racing, throat closing up, he followed after Ilse as she put on a sultry smile and bounced into the light, her face lit up by the orange fire. Hanschen held back a gasp and tried to put on his normal relaxed smirk, and he prayed to God that it was working as a bohemian girl no older than him danced by topless and bottomless.

"They're already drunk!" Ilse squeezed his arm with an excited squeal. "Oh, and stay away from that one-" She pointed to the girl who had just pranced by, "-That's Klara, nothing but a--"

"Well, if it isn't Miss Ilse, we thought you had died!"

A large man who Hanschen assumed must have been Dierk Wunter approached them and scooped Ilse into a giant hug, cupping her rear end in the process, as Hanschen noted. Both Ilse and Hanschen flinched at the assumption of death, but Ilse just screeched like a school girl as a clear substance was poured down her throat by the man assaulting her. Hanschen stood awkward and silent, he had never seen anything like this before and the site was certainly something to take in. Numerous tents and upwards of fifty people sitting on logs, laying on blankets, kissing in full view and all sipping on mugs of the clear liquid. His cool grin had turned into something much more and he must have looked hungry for something. A cup was thrust into his hands and Hanschen knit his eyebrows and looked to Ilse for confirmation. She nodded curtly before being scooped up right off the ground and into the arms of a tall blonde man. A group had surrounded Ilse, a great diversion for Hanschen to examine and take his first sip.

He glanced into the cup and an awful scent filled his nostrils. This was what he was looking for, this was what he needed. This was the night Hanschen had been looking forward to for a month. Nervously, and making sure the crowd was still all eyes on Ilse, he licked his lips. Down the hatch. Hanschen flung his head back and emptied the contents of the cup down his throat. Choking, burning, mouth on fire, Hanschen threw the cup down and staggered backwards as he struggled to swallow the horrendous liquor. Ilse emerged from the crowd, a cup in hand, and tossed an arm around Hanschen.

"Everyone? This is my friend Hanschen!" Ilse's breath already smelled of the alcohol, and Hanschen was positive his did too as he got clapped on the back and his hand shaken by a few members of the crowd. Most of them just raised their cups and took another swig.

Once the attention was on others, Ilse turned to him, smile wide and eyes wider, it was apparent the alcohol was already taking hold. Hanschen stepped forward, and leaned his head into hers, a sudden rush to his brain made him stumble and hit Ilse's forehead with his own. She erupted into a chorus of loud laughter, and Hanschen just watched her in confusion as his head spun wildly.

"I suppose you took a taste test then?" The laughter was still in her voice as a member of the colony filled up Ilse's cup and handed Hanschen a new one. Hanschen nodded in reply, tongue slightly numb. "The key is--" She let a giggle out, "-to just throw it all back!" Ilse tilted the cup and swallowed down half the contents of her cup. "Do it fast and you don't even taste it!"

With Ilse's words fresh in his mind and the taste still in his mouth, Hanschen stared skeptically down into his drink. If she could do it, he could too. Unlike Ilse he took it all down at once, and felt the burn all the down to his stomach. Ilse threw her arms up into the air and let out a celebratory whoop. They were having fun for the first time in a long time.

From that point on the night was a spin. Hanschen was on and off his feet, sitting next to Klara, sitting next to Falco, holding hands with Erich, losing constant sight of Ilse as she and Dierk flirted shamelessly and openly in front of the crowd. He had smoked about three cigarettes and when handed an odd looking rolled up cigar began coughing uncontrollably, much to the humor of the crowd who laughed and laughed while he fell to the ground. Despite the horrors and new experiences it was ranked high in the most thrilling moments of his life. Hanschen reveled in the attention of the men and women of the colony and to his excitement, the girl Klara who wore nothing but undergarments had been touching and rubbing Hanschen all night. In the newness of it all he had lost his coat and had rolled up his sleeves and untucked his shirt. The novelty of him being the newest face in the crowd had quickly worn off, he didn't care less either way. He lay now, alone, puffing a fourth cigarette and feeling the alcohol come to sit uncomfortably in his stomach, the strange smoke causing him to see strange shapes in the woods. A screech came from behind and a stumbling Ilse fell to her knees beside him, making Hanschen's head reel.

"Hanschie! I am so drunk."

She looked up at him as if it wasn't obvious and Hanschen had nothing else to do but laugh hysterically. Her hair had come undone and her face was flushed, as was Hanschen's, giving him more color than usual. As Ilse stared up at him she could almost find that usually perfect, now messy hair, handsome, and his angular face just begged her to reach out and stroke it. Her fingers trailed lightly on his chin and Hanschen's eyes fluttered closed, the touch electrifying his intoxicated skin. He reached his hand down to return the light touch on Ilse's shoulder.

"I can tell, dear Ilse. I believe-" He looked down at Ilse, "-that I too, am intoxicated. It is certainly a weightless, fearless feeling."

"Isn't it?" Ilse rolled off his legs and onto the grass before pulling herself back to her feet. "Come with me, Hanschen." Her words were sloppy, but Hanschen took her hand without question.

They set off into a canvas tent that was abandoned, a single near-burnt out kerosene lamp, and a series of knit throws carpeting the small space. The two had never exchanged this many words in the entire time they had previously known of each other. The company was stimulating. For Hanschen, a girl like Ilse was refreshing. He was used to Ernst fawning over him, and had to listen to endless conversations between Georg and Otto about Marianna. The constant compliments and touches were over-bearing, and Marianna Wheelen was a boring, drab girl who didn't have the fire that Ilse did. Though he understood that this was for a night, and tomorrow they would go back to being nobodys in this small town, Hanschen wanted to breathe in all of Ilse he could.

Ilse had never given Hanschen a second look. He, too, had a reputation. Anna and Thea would squeal over thoughts of having to hold his hand, it was a well known fact that Hanschen had discovered his father's pornographic materials at an early age. Even many of the boys were cautious of him. But since that night after Moritz's funeral, Hanschen had so carefully placed a hand on her back, urged her to cry...it was hard to see Hanschen as anything but amiable. And with the alcohol in her system his strange hair and small stature made him handsome. Much different than the men at the colony. Hanschen had a story to tell. Ilse sat herself down on her elbows, bare feet dangling out of the untied door.

"You know Ilse, I liked Moritz." Hanschen stifled his cigarette onto one of the blankets and closed his eyes, not wanting to see the spinning contents of the tent. "He was a good, good man."

Ilse giggled and laid her head back, taking the pressure off her elbows.

"He always made me smile, and he never understood why. I would laugh and he would stare at me like I was crazy. Moritz made me happy." Ilse looked like she was in a deep, wonderful dream. "I do not believe he felt the same way. I loved him. If only he had walked me home that night. I loved him, Hanschen." She looked over at him, eyes glassy from the alcohol and memories. He nodded at her, still in a daze, drinking in all the words.

"I wish I had someone I loved."

"No one?" She rolled to her side, once again propping herself up with her elbow, looking concerned.

Hanschen shook his head and stared down at Ilse.

"Not really, no." He thought of Ernst. Poor, sweet Ernst. Ernst who loved to observe Hanschen, who would sneak looks at him in class, to which Hanschen would just roll his eyes. The constant attention was exactly what he craved, but it was the farthest thing from love. While he loved the tender touches and the control of their relationship, love was not even something in his mind.

"It is an _amazing_ feeling, Hanschen. I blame myself for what happened, you know." Ilse suddenly got very serious, the moisture in her eyes now not only from the alcohol. "If only I hadn't run away like a child. I saw the glint of the pistol as I ran by...it's what caught my eye, how I even knew he was there. But I was so _sick_ of him ignoring my questions, avoiding my eyes." She sat up. "It was frustrating, Hanschen. I was the last person to see Moritz Stiefel alive. The last person he saw was me. I imagine before I came in he had said goodbye to his mother, perhaps visited Melchior. It wasn't the way he wanted, I know it."

Hanschen swallowed hard, the tone of Ilse's voice killing him. The alchol made him emotional and blank at the same time. Ilse's story made him wish there was a girl running around with a bottle to fill up the empty cup he still held in his hands. From this night he learned it could numb almost anything. It was apparent they were both coming off of their high.

"And Wendla, Hanschen...Melchior must feel the same way."

Her words hung heavy in the air as they examined each other. Ilse began to notice the few stray hairs that had broken free from Hanschen's perfect hair, the scent of him--like cigarettes and the night air. She had never seen him so undone, a streak of mud on his elbow. In her haze, and in the darkness, the red fullness of Hanschen's lips just glared at her. Dierk and Falco's lips were thin and tasted of vodka. She imagined Hanschen's must be sweet and smokey.

With silent words, the two moved closer to each other. Hanschen now hovering over Ilse, who had laid back flat onto the floor of the tent. Tentatively, and cautiously, eyes open, he lowered his mouth on her's, and shared in a gentle kiss. No more than five seconds later, it was all over.

"We had better go. If you're not in bed in the morning, your mother will worry, Hanschen."

"Yes, Ilse."

They gathered themselves together and exited the tent. Ilse said her goodbyes to the few individuals who still hung around. Hanschen hung back awkwardly, enjoying another cigarette he had found. At last, they made their half-drunk hike back to Ilse's little nook of the woods, but there was no laughter, no drunken banter. Only the feeling of Hanschen's lips on hers remained, and burned like fire.

"Goodnight, Hanschen." She watched as he rubbed the dirt off his elbow, and tucked his shirt back in. Not like it did much good, he was still bedraggled and messy.

"Goodnight, dear Ilse." His smirk was back, and the short nod was typical to his personality. Hanschen turned, and trudged back to the small town without so much as a parting glance.


End file.
